


My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark

by patdkitten



Category: Infernal Devices - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patdkitten/pseuds/patdkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something in Jem's face he can't read, and he hates that because he should always <i>know</i> what's on the other boy's face, but suddenly everything's too much and not enough and there's not enough space between them and there's too much space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark

There's a sharp pain in his arm and Will knows without looking that it's a bad slice there, but it's nothing that can't be fixed with an _iratze_. It doesn't take much after that before the demon he and Jem are fighting goes down, disappearing after it's killed.

“You're injured,” Jem says by way of congratulations to them both, coming over with stele drawn to draw that _iratze_. The glow glints off his silver hair and eyes, and Will focuses on the glint instead of the flinch as his body heals itself with the healing rune.

“I've had worse.” Will wiggles his fingers with a devilish grin. As he does so, he catches a good look at the torn fabric of his shirt and he grimaces, picking at it. “ _Fuck_ , this was my favorite shirt too.”

“Better the shirt than your arm.” Although his _parabatai_ 's moving away and isn't facing him, he can hear the grin in the other boy's voice.

“But it's my _favorite_ shirt.” He follows him with a little whine, catching up after a few paces. “I've won many a bet with this shirt.”

“With Six-Fingered Nigel?” This time, Will can see white flash in the moonlight as Jem grins at the old joke.

He waves a hand, grinning broadly. “You know me too well, Jem Carstairs.”

They joke back and forth all the way back to the Institute, and Will follows Jem to his room, immediately removing his shirt to better investigate the damage.

His fingers wiggle through the slash, and he gives a little moan of dissatisfaction. He hears the other boy puttering around – he knows why and he worries that Jem might be more injured than he's letting on, letting Will take the glory of the battle scars. But he comes back, taking the ruined shirt from him and setting it on a nearby chair.

“Sophie can fix it, I'm sure.” Jem's voice is, like it always is, calm and quiet and Will's pretty sure that he'd be dead a hundred times over without his _parabatai_ 's cool and calm and collected.

Without thinking – not that it's unusual, Will _knows_ that he does plenty of things without thinking – he's reaching out to cup Jem's chin, watching his eyes as if he can see the stain on the other boy's soul. There's something in Jem's face he can't read, and he hates that because he should always _know_ what's on the other boy's face, but suddenly everything's too much and not enough and there's not enough space between them and there's too much space.

“Will? What are you -.”

He's not even sure what he's doing, just closing the space that's too much and not enough, and then he's kissing, _kissing_ , Jem. He knows that he shouldn't feel a flutter of _something_ that's not unlike angel feathers in his stomach, but he does and he's really kissing him. And there's a moment when Jem's hands come up to Will's shoulders and he's sure that the other boy's going to push him away, like he _should_. But there's a breath, a puff, against his mouth and Jem's long fingers curl into his shoulders, and he's making it even easier to kiss him.

There's not enough air in his lungs, he thinks briefly, but it's gone in a flash when the other boy pulls away. Will's body automatically follows, and it's easy to tell himself that it's only because of their link, their connection, but he knows that it's more instinctive than their training. Primitive.

“We shouldn't.” Jem's voice is still quiet, but it's less calm now, more breathless.

He's about to respond with something, fuck, _anything_ , but then the other boy's pushing him up against the door like he can't get past all the space between them too, and kissing him like there's not enough air in his lungs. Will feels that way too, and there's a part of him that's quite content to stay right here, but he's suddenly aware that his hands are moving to Jem's shoulders – a reflection of before – and his fingers are curling into the other boy's shirt. There's a moment, a heartbeat, where they're pressed completely together with no air and too much air, but then his fingers are sliding down to Jem's wrists and tightening. He can feel the small bones in Jem's wrists, the powerful muscles there, and suddenly, they're reversed: Jem's pinned under him, wrists held up over his head like a prize.

There's nothing for a few heartbeats, just small gasps and groans and the rustling of clothes, but someone moans out “bed” (Will isn't sure if that's him or Jem that moans it, and he's also not sure he _cares_ ), and in another heartbeat, they're on the bed. Jem's still pinned by his wrists under him, fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to grasp the air that his _parabatai_ can't get into his lungs with the way that he's writhing under Will as they're kissing.

“I can't...” Someone moans, and this time Will's pretty sure that's Jem, but it could be him.

“C'mon.” That could be him, Will thinks, but it could be Jem too.

There's a gasp from one of them, a moan from the other, and he feels an awful lot like he's just run a marathon. From the soft whimpers from Jem, he's pretty sure his _parabatai_ feels the same way.

“We shouldn't,” Jem whispers some time later. Will doesn't say anything, hasn't said a word since he locked the door earlier and helped them both out of their clothes and cleaned them both off. He doesn't think the other boy wants to hear anything from him, because it'd just be flippant. Instead, he pulls the bedclothes closer around them, imagining that he's pulling the dark tighter around them. “But I can't help it.”

He shifts, pulling him closer and still says nothing, listening as his breathing eventually slows in sleep.

“I can't either.” He whispers in the dark, letting it stay there as he follows Jem into dreams.


End file.
